Unpluged to Plug In: No Longer Here For The Likes

I’ve never been one of those “fake it” types — I always say the only thing fake about me is my leg.

Life, society — it tries to paint your life in comparison to someone else’s. You scroll down Instagram and get FOMO over something that’s unlikely to have any real impact on anything besides your wallet.

Media tells women: “You need to be like this.” “Have your hair like this.”

It becomes a mirror of the worst versions of you — but we become plagued by it. Addicted. One more video, one more “like”… one more hour.

And what do we get out of it? A rush of dopamine and an anxiety complex? Fake news? Depression? Stimulation overload?

Where is the breath we are owed — the one we’re supposed to catch?

It’s not online.

It’s within ourselves.

I have been pushing and fighting this “good fight” — against myself and the expectations of social media.

“I need to show to inspire.”

“I need to speak so people can say, do, or think.”

“I need to show up as a version of myself that doesn’t fully suit me, just to make the system happy.”

Fuck the system.

Fuck the likes.

Fuck the views.

I honestly don’t care anymore — not a single photo of me being cute is going to change the world. But it will cause comparison.

Why only 20 likes? No comments? What’s wrong with me?

Recently, Instagram blocked me from posting any comments — even on my own posts. This came after I suddenly became “shadow banned” a few months prior. Now, I have no restrictions on my account. In fact, IG is always telling me I can monetize. They want to “work with me.”

But what is the work I’m doing?

Why would I even work with — or for — someone who can censor me?

That’s not work.

That’s ownership.

And no one owns me.

Not my story. Not my growth.

Only I hold the keys, the papers, the deed.

You don’t get to control my narrative.

So now that my “time in the corner” with IG is over — my comments are back.

But the feed doesn’t hit the same.

Being off social media quieted my mind, amped the tone of my voice, and reminded me what I forgot. What we all forget:

Life is to be lived outside, not online.

And I know — it’s hard. The wars. The oppression. The red-pill rants from “passport kings” (All lames btw).

None of it matters.

And all of it is a distraction.

A distraction from myself.

So my mind is never focused on being myself.

I’ve always wanted to inspire the world —

But I don’t need to showcase every part of my travels to do that.

Y’all don’t need a “pack with me” video.

The world doesn’t need another “tips when traveling to…” post.

What this world needs is empathic people, whose hearts are filled with light and love — to radiate so brighty that it impacts everyone they meet. Regardless of the method.

So, saying all this to say:

I don’t care anymore.

You don’t have to read my blog.

You don’t have to like my videos.

Because I don’t actually write for you.

Nor do I post for you.

I write and post for the Blackbirds — the ones who are watching, waiting to be seen. The ones who need to know they are loved. The ones looking for vibrations and frequencies that match their own.

I will no longer show up to be perfect.

I will only show up to be me.

You don’t like it?

Tell it to your pillow — and unfollow me.

Because my light is way too bright to keep dimming for a system that not only refuses to understand… but isn’t even capable of comprehending what it is I’m saying.

I don’t care.

I am happy.

I am me.

I love me.

And that will always be enough.

Too many of us are plagued with this mindset.

But if we stop listening to the whispers of the world — and start tuning into ourselves — we’ll finally see the world for what it really is:

Fake.

And I’ve decided not to play by their rules any longer.

As for me?

The only thing fake about me is my leg.

So allow me to skip through my field of daisies,